


You Twist To Fit The Mold That I Am In

by cassieking13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possessive!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieking13/pseuds/cassieking13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shameless, aren’t we?”  I growl, nipping at the tendon of his neck and biting my way along his jaw.<br/>“Only for you.” He gasps out, hands sliding under my jacket. He rubs his palms down my ribs and settles them at my hips, thumbs pressing into the curve of them, pulling me closer. “Only ever you.”<br/>*~*<br/>Where Allison's a hipster, Stiles has hidden talents, and Derek is a bit of a failwolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Twist To Fit The Mold That I Am In

Allison suggested the club. Said it’d be fun. It’s on the far side of town, in a warehouse turned ritzy nightclub full of hipsters and musicians.

Exactly the kind of place Allison would know about.

  
When the pack sees the sign-up sheet for karaoke, they start daring each other to sign up. Eventually, everyone gangs up on Stiles, who’s laughing too hard to resist as Lydia drags him over and helps him pick out a song. By the time they get back over, Scott’s already thought up several dozen jokes about dying cats and Isaac’s laughing so hard he can’t sit up.

  
Some horrible pop song comes on, to which Stiles shouts, “Oh my god, my queen!” and Scott says something along the lines of “Hips don’t lie!” and I get dragged onto the dance floor.

  
Everybody’s forgotten about karaoke until a pretty woman in a very tight red dress starts calling people up and a long line of hipsters sing a long line of bad indie songs. A drunken bachelorette party breaks the pattern with a pitchy Alicia Keys song.

  
I grab a stool at the bar and order a whiskey, figuring I’ll need it. Stiles is good at many things but singing ranks nowhere in that list.  
The beginning strings of the song start and brace myself, expecting the worst.

  
It doesn’t come.

  
I don’t know the song and after a second I can’t even hear the words. I just sit there and watch him sing, eyes gleaming as he throws his head back to hit all the right notes. He sounds amazing, his voice vibrating out of his chest and lazily whirling through the air. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, off the easy way he holds the mic, the long line of his body, relaxed and strong, like he does this every day. I follow the way he sways his hips, trace the curve of his smile, and knock back the rest of my whiskey in self-defense.

  
The strains of the song are barely dead in the air before everyone’s on their feet, clapping and whistling and calling for more. He obliges, lips crooked as the first few lyrics of “Sunday Morning” fill the air, heady and slow.

  
 _Sunday morning rain is falling_

_Steal some covers share some skin_

_Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable_

_Y_ _ou twist to fit the mold that I am in_

 

Something about his smile screams “come and get me” and my wolf howls, possessiveness crawling up my throat and threatening to choke me. I curl my fingers around the edge of my stool and fight my instincts.

 

_Fingers trace your every outline_

_Paint a picture with my hands_

_Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm_

_Change the weather still together when it ends_

 

He smirks at me from the stage, knows exactly what he’s doing right now but doesn’t seem to care how close I am to throwing him over my shoulder, taking him home, and never letting him out of bed. The music picks up and he begins to bounce around the stage, loud and energetic and fucking brilliant.

  
The crowd loves it. They jump around with him, shouting the lyrics and throwing themselves at the stage. The lights in the club go down, begin to pulse as the music and noise climbs through the roof and it stops being so much about the music as the electricity of it.

 

When the song ends, they cheer and cheer but never stop dancing, never stop moving to the beat of whatever techno garbage begins to gargle out of the speakers as Stiles bounds off the stage.

  
He catches my eye, just a glance, and grabs my wrist as he runs by, laughing and tugging me through the crowd. We’ve barely made I out the door before I have him shoved up against the gritty brick wall, my hands running up under his t-shirt and over his ribs, my teeth worrying a mark on his collarbone, just above the one Stiles was baring to the whole club, his shirt loose at the neck and letting everyone see.

  
“Shameless, aren’t we?” I growl, nipping at the tendon of his neck and biting my way along his jaw.

  
“Only for you.” He gasps out, hands sliding under my jacket. He rubs his palms down my ribs and settles them at my hips, thumbs pressing into the curve of them, pulling me closer. “Only ever you.”

  
Our lips crash together, slick and hot and more teeth than anything until he slants his head just right and I’m sucking on his tongue, my body pressing him against the wall, our hips aligned. He twists his hands in my hair and yanks, flipping us so he’s got me pinned, biting his way across my jaw and down my neck. “A little jealous, huh?” I scowl at his smirk, hating that I’m apparently so easy to read. “Don’t worry, Sourwolf. I think it’s hot.” He purrs, stretching up to pull my bottom lip into his mouth and seriously, when did he get this good at making me fall apart?

  
“I think, “I grind out, trying not to come in my pants when he pushes his hips into mine, “We should head home.”

  
“Hmm, definitely.” Stiles grins, eyes bright as he pulls me off the wall and towards the parking lot we left the Camaro in.

  
*~*

  
I am aching in places I never knew could ache like this and there is a dangerously painful amount of cum stuck in my public hairs but I really can’t care because Derek’s pressed against my back, his arm slung across my chest, his stubble scratching at my neck.

  
A really stupid smile creeps its way across my face before I can stop it when Derek tugs me closer and grunts into my ear, “Stop thinking, it’s distracting.”

  
“You are way too coherent for someone who spent the night fucking me through the mattress.” I gripe. He chuckles and tucks me more securely into his chest, buries his nose into my neck. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

  
Derek pouts when I pull away from him but follows me out of the bed, smirking at my wince when my ass lets me know exactly how much it didn’t enjoy last night’s activities. The rest of me really doesn’t agree but my ass complains the loudest.

  
He follows me into the bathroom, hands skimming over my sides, down my thighs, and up again as I start the shower, letting the water warm up. My eyes catch on the mirror and I stop, gaping.

  
My chest is covered in dark, mouth-shaped bruises. A line of blue and black bites mark my collarbones and my nipples are swollen and pink; both are ringed my bright red teeth imprints. Finger shaped impressions and the red scratches mark my sides and there’s a very prominent hickey on my thigh.

  
Derek appears over my shoulder, smirking darkly and looking very proud of himself.  
“Is this,” I gesture at the medley of bruises I’m covered in, “a wolf thing or a Derek thing?” He shrugs and drags his thumb across my abused nipple, wrenching a mewl out of me.

  
“A little bit of both then.” I mutter, twisting away from his now ruthless assault of my poor body.

 

“You like it.” He smirks, following me into the warm spray of the shower.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so another almost smut! Since I'm still too much of a chicken for much else. Also, who else is proud that I got over 1000 words? Because I am incrediably proud of that accomplishment!


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